


History of the Observation of Mars

by EmergencyBroadcastSystem



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Blow Jobs, Character Study, M/M, PWP, Trojan War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29374368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmergencyBroadcastSystem/pseuds/EmergencyBroadcastSystem
Summary: Achilles had a mad impulse to throw him down on the Trojan beach and commit academically and literary significant perversion with him.Patroclus pretends to read and ignore him. That doesn't last long.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 90





	History of the Observation of Mars

Patroclus lay, swathed in thick wolf-fur, sleep-warm and quiet, with Achilles’ head between his legs. He was pretending to read a missive from Odysseus. That was the game they were playing, communicated in the way Achilles always communicated these things—by flashes of his bright eyes, a quirk to his grin, never outright, never aloud. If Patroclus missed enough clues the demigod would feel spurned and huffy, but tonight Patroclus thought he understood. 

Achilles lapped at him, flat-tongued and clumsy. His eyebrows were a darker colour than his golden hair, which caught the firelight in his curls like buffed, polished bronze. He approached lovemaking like he approached every other task—with an endearing sort of earnestness. Despite the tales they would tell about him one day, Achilles was a straightforward man. 

Patroclus watched him out of the corner of his eye. He extracted his free hand from the sweaty furs and wrapped a hand into the other man’s long hair. He wasn’t sure if that was technically breaking some rule, but Achilles’ eyes flashed to him. 

“Open your mouth,” Patroclus said, careful not to sit up, not to pay him too much attention. 

Achilles’ eyes flicked from the hand in his hair to Patroclus. His eyes were hot. He opened his mouth, and without further instruction, pulled his cock inside. 

The suddenness of the feeling was like a bee-sting, sharp and almost overwhelming. A rush of feeling swept up Patroclus, a heat curling like a snake in his belly. Patroclus fought to keep it from showing on his face. The sweep of feeling, the twisting desire, the rising heat up the back of his spine—it all escaped him in a choked sigh, his eyes tracking back to the missive. 

Achilles made a short motion, like he was about to move, but stopped himself just in time. Patroclus was looking away, but he could tell Achilles was staring at him, hard. It was the eyes of a predatory animal, ones you could feel on your back in the middle of the night, when your rational mind told you nothing was there. 

Patroclus tugged sharply on Achilles’ hair, and the man let out a harsh, short noise. He began to stroke his tongue along the underside of Patroclus’ cock. Even a hint of teeth. Patroclus hissed quietly. 

Achilles began to bob his head, and a muscle in Patroclus’ jaw bounced. He managed to keep his eyes fixed on the missive, but he couldn’t even pretend to read them. His legs were tensed to stop him moving. 

Another hand pushed furs aside to slip under Patroclus, to squeeze his balls. Patroclus’ heart jumped and a shoot of desire spiked up his spine. The missive crumpled in his hands. 

Patroclus turned his hips slightly, but Achilles’ hand shoved him down. He glared, triumphant at being the centre of attention again. Impossible to ignore. There was a point in lovemaking where he always felt bigger than himself, where it felt like he was losing his grip on something. He both loved and hated the feeling. 

Patroclus came with a breathless groan. 

The feeling was almost like a shiver. It washed over him in a warm tide. Distantly he registered Achilles licking him in a way that made his skin buzz. He was always an overachiever. 

Patroclus found his breath and his lungs stuttered back to life, as his head fell back and hit the soft furs. The tent smelled of smoke and sea brine. Achilles released him, finally, and Patroclus’ skin was almost prickly and over-sensitised. Furs creaked under their weight as Achilles prowled upwards. 

“You can’t ignore me,” Achilles growled, his voice unusually deep and hoarse. The man smelled like hard work, the sweat on his spine mingling with the odour castor oil Patroclus had worked into his armour. 

Patroclus slipped a hand over the hero’s firm, finely muscled front and closed around Achilles’ cock, which hung neglected. It was erect and painfully hard in the shadows of the furs. Patroclus stroked him softly, almost tenderly, and Achilles bowed his head. Patroclus used his free hand to draw the other man closer, so that he could rest his head next to him. Achilles’ breath hitched. He drew in air like a hiss. 

With a practiced hand, he coaxed Achilles the rest of the way. Achilles growled; his head pressed to the wolf fur next to Patroclus’ ear. The sound sparked straight through Patroclus’ spine, but his body was too tired. Achilles curled a fist in the thick fur and came. The hero didn’t relax until he was finished, and even then, it was gradual. Like ice thawing, Achilles sagged against the animal skins, coming to rest half on top of Patroclus. His partner rubbed circles in Achilles’ spine. 

Achilles pushed closer, his nose pressing into Patroclus’ jaw. Patroclus lay his hand flat. He could see the dark blue night above them, through the gaps in the tent walls. For a long time, Patroclus had been shit-scared of someone walking in on them. Their tent walls were thin and unguarded, anyone in their camp could just stroll inside. But three years at war had eroded whatever shame and propriety he still clung on to—only last week he had walked naked in a hot summer morning to find where he had left his engraved dagger, before he dressed and committed himself to a day of soldiering. 

Achilles breathed out softly. Patroclus pulled the deerskin closer around them. There was a blanket, embroidered decadently, from some king which had pledged their allegiance. He could hear a dog barking. And the sigh of the surf, which had been their constant companion. Patroclus could swear he heard the sea everywhere. He was tired of it. 

Distantly, Achilles slipped into sleep. It was obvious in how he relaxed all at once. Patroclus smoothed the crumpled missive and folded it. Odysseus would have to understand. Even if Patroclus wasn’t sure what he was doing here, what the war was about, what all the death which hounded him daily really meant. He stroked Achilles’ soft hair. 

How could he explain it? Patroclus loved Achilles, like a fishhook lodged in his jaw, tugging, tugging. Painful to go along with, but even more painful to resist. Even if he knew what was on the other end of the line. 

A little star twinkled above them. There were clouds, but still, the Dog star was still visible. The moon, and beside it like a dull star, Mars. God of war.


End file.
